Rough Love
by QuidditchQuitter
Summary: Hogwarts reopens halfway through the seventh year. Harry is going through the motions of an otherwise dull year, when some school gossip about his old rival sets events in motion that lead to the most unlikely infatuation ever.
1. Out

**Out**

The first thing you have to understand is that Harry Potter had fallen in love with Draco Malfoy, and fallen hard. He could not really be blamed for what he'd done to Cormac, nor could he really be blamed for losing his temper in the hallway in what was one of the greatest love melodramas to go down in the history of Hogwarts. Draco Malfoy had Harry wrapped around his skinny little finger, and now everyone knew it. And of course, there was nothing else anyone wanted to talk about; pretty soon, even the poisoning of Hermione Granger was practically last year's news. But the best thing is to start at the beginning, and see how this incredible turning point came to be.

It all started with what would have been Harry, Ron, Hermione and Draco's seventh year at Hogwarts, if it had begun normally. The past year had been traumatic. Hogwarts finally reopened almost halfway through the typical school year, after the events that led to the downfall and defeat of Voldemort once and for all. Harry himself played a rather crucial role in all of this, but that's another story. When the wizarding world reemerged-somewhat worse for the wear but still essentially intact-from the bloodshed and mayhem, everyone seemed wearily ready to go through the motions of normalcy…for lack of anything better to do. Thus, Harry Potter, Hermione Granger, and Ronald Weasley found themselves back at Hogwarts, wrapping up their interrupted seventh year before belatedly entering the world as adults.

Under the circumstances, it was a bit of a surprise that the first week of school began with such a bang, thanks to two major events which were actually quite unrelated. First, there was the return of Draco Malfoy, whose arrival was preceded by a torrent of wild rumors with a disturbing basis in truth. Everyone knew what had become of the once-proud prince of house Slytherin; his mother and father had been banished to a U.S. prison for wizards, reputed to be far worse than Azkaban (although there was some debate as to whether this was because of the bad reality television they would have to watch, or because it was actually Abu Graib).

There were other rumors, however-and it was here that the students of Hogwarts showed their otherwise stifled creativity-that had taken hold of the imagination, and these almost always involved some speculation as to how Malfoy was coping with his fall from grace. The most popular one, and simultaneously the most taboo, was that Malfoy was gay, had recently come out of the closet and was now throwing himself at this or that other rich lover in the hopes of securing some means of a future.

They did not see him for the first week. Then one day, during breakfast, a collective wave of whispers began to travel throughout the feast hall. Turning to find out what everyone else was looking at, Harry, Ron and Hermione looked up to see Draco sauntering down the hallway between the feast tables, ignoring the curious stares from each of the houses. He walked right up to the long, imposing faculty table, his white-blond hair hiding what might have been a dull expression in his eyes, and spoke in a low whisper to Head-Mistress McGonagall, who seemed to have been expecting him and leaned forward to converse.

After a moment she gave him a curt nod and, tossing his chin in the air, Draco stalked over to the Slytherins' table and sat down. Without any further ado his housemates leaned toward him and began chattering in low voices as he reached for food and began to eat with relish. He seemed oblivious-or indifferent-to the buzzing around the feast hall. Harry and Ron threw each other a glance, raising their eyebrows. Hermione looked thoughtful.

"Hadn't expected to see _him_ back this year," Ron said.

Harry turned conspicuously in his seat to stare at Draco again, not caring if he was noticed. In fact, he somewhat hoped he was. Although the rumors about Draco's sexual preference had made their way into the Gryffindor common room on many occasions, Harry had only been peripherally aware of them at all. Still numb from the aftermath of Voldemort's violent rebellion, Harry gave little thought to the hallway gossip these days. What _had_ Malfoy been up to all this time?

The second thing that happened, and this really _did_ shake up the student body, was that Hermione Granger was dragged from the library a few days later, convulsing and foaming at the mouth, and quickly taken up into the hospital wing. News traveled faster than ever these days, considering the fact that everyone in the wizarding world was still rather jumpy, and it was soon widely known she was the victim of an attempted poisoning. Whatever the poison was it had to have been pretty nasty, for she stayed in the hospital wing for almost a month. It was some time yet before the culprit would be discovered, however. Of course, everyone's first guess was a particular Slytherin who was known for having once had Death Eater loyalties, but it turned out he had a solid alibi after all.

On the evening of this incident, Harry was going into the boys' room after supper-the pumpkin juice just wasn't the same these days; whatever Hermione said, he personally believed that being forcibly freed had seriously lowered the morale of the house elves-when he froze stockstill in the middle of the bathroom, his mouth stupidly hanging open. There, right up against the far wall between the last stall and a tiny window caked with dust, leaned Malfoy. His arms were thrown casually around the neck of another boy who was leaning against him _much _closer than any boy should, and looking as if he were just about to start a fierce sequence of nibbling at his collarbone. At the sound of the door swinging shut with a bang the boy looked at Harry over his shoulder, Harry thought he recognized him as a sixth year from the Ravenclaw Quidditch team of last year.

When Malfoy saw him, his grey eyes glinted with surprise and dull fury. A second later, however, the old anger dissipated. His face now twisted with apparent disgust at having been interrupted, he merely stared him down.

"What are you gawking at?" he spat, cradling the Ravenclaw's neck in his arm again, which he'd instinctively pulled away a moment before.

"Oh….So….it's true then," Harry said offhandedly, going toward one of the sinks even though he had no reason to wash his hands. It was a force of habit that he never backed down from Malfoy; but in this case, Harry felt completely taken off guard, and there was no dark-magic defensive technique that could possibly have prepared him for _this_.

"Piss off, Potter. I'm busy."

"Don't you know when to make yourself scarce?" the Ravenclaw said after a second or two.

"No, no…see, you're actually expecting him to have _manners_," he heard Malfoy mutter in a tone of affected patience. He had gently, but firmly, taken the boy's chin in his other hand and was now turning it toward him so that he could kiss his lips.

Harry slowly wiped his hands as he regarded them with open curiosity. He threw the paper towel away, then looked back at Malfoy, who was now leaning his head back against the wall and meeting his eyes with an odd, infuriatingly dismissive expression. His grey eyes narrowed as the Ravenclaw made the slightest motion to pull away, and he hooked a finger into the boy's belt, anchoring his body in close proximity. The boy responded by burying his face into Malfoy's neck, ready to resume their activities.

"Well, if there's nothing else I can do for you-unless you like to watch?" He smirked, and Harry felt an unpleasant lurching sensation in his stomach.

"Think I'll pass. See you around, Malfoy."

_See you around?!?! _ He asked himself incredulously, as the door banged behind him again. He headed as fast as he could to the Gryffindor common room, shaking his head. "Real good comeback, Harry," he muttered.

"So did you hear about Malfoy and Zabini?" Ron asked Harry a few days later, as they sat glumly in the quiet common room. They were staring at their respective Transfiguration textbooks, where neither had turned a page for the last half hour.

"What about them?"

"You don't _know_?"

"No, Ron, I don't. Why should I?"

Ron leaned forward, whispering with conspiratorial delight.

"Apparently, Malfoy's got a thing for…well, you know…blokes."

Harry gave him the most skeptical look he thought he could muster.

"You can't possibly be serious."

"It's _true_! Well, I mean, I don't _know_ if it's true-" Ron wrinkled his eyebrows. Harry said nothing. _He _knew it was true, but he had somehow neglected to tell Ron what he'd seen in the bathroom the night Hermione was poisoned. When he'd come back, the rest of the school was in an uproar. Ron had come up to him, face white, stammering something about "Hermione" and "murderer." As if the shock and terror of this sudden attack on his other best friend hadn't been enough, moments later he had been summoned to McGonagall's office by a very grave-looking Flitwick.

When Harry arrived at the office that had once been Dumbledore's, he was very surprised to see Malfoy standing there, a mixed look of defiance and apprehension on his pale face. It was immediately apparent to him that Malfoy had had no idea why he was called there until only a few moments ago. He guessed within seconds what must have happened; Malfoy had been unaccounted for at the moment of the attack, and his other alibi, for whatever reason, had not come through. Sure enough, Harry found himself reluctantly clearing Malfoy of any blame-he left out the specifics of his knowledge-and they were both promptly dismissed to their respective houses. "What did McGonagall want?" Ron had asked him, and Harry explained in as few details as possible. Luckily, at the time, the subject was left well enough alone.

"-But anyway, that's what everyone's saying. It's been all over school for weeks. But him and _Zabini_. I heard they've been snogging all over the halls in the dungeon."

"Well, who'd you hear it from? Slytherins or some silly first years from somewhere else? That's disturbing, by the way. And a bit gross, that you'd even be thinking about it."

"Pish," Ron scoffed with a wave of his hand. "You know just as well as I do that, true or not, it's bloody hilarious, if you think about it. _Malfoy_, of all people. That's just rich. Malfoy, a bloody fruitcake."

Harry felt a smile tug at his mouth at this. It _was_ ironic, almost deliciously so, the way Ron put it. But he had simply found little to laugh about these days.

"So who'd you hear it from?"

"Actually, I heard it from a very reliable source," Ron said, his ears turning red for some reason. Harry stared at him, waiting. "All _right_," Ron spluttered, "I heard it from Romilda Vane."

"Mmm_hmm_."

"But Hermione confirmed it!"

"Ron, what does _Hermione_ know about Malfoy's sexual activities?! Last I heard, they weren't exactly exchanging personal secrets."

"But Hermione pays attention to those kinds of things. You know that. And you know she would never have bothered to express an opinion if she didn't have good reason to believe…"

Harry shrugged, closing his book and standing up. He'd given up on studying altogether.

"Well, it's a compelling theory. Much more interesting than Transfiguration. But I think, if it's all the same to you, I'll refrain from wasting any brain cells on Malfoy's sex life."

"You know, you sounded like Hermione when you said that," Ron observed with awe.

"Yeah, well, I expect she's rubbing off on me a little after all." Secretly, he suspected Ron just missed her terribly. He already spent every free hour he could visiting her in the hospital wing, and he had almost been fit to be tied when Harry mentioned that Malfoy had been a suspect. "I'll see you later; think I'll go let out a few bludgers and let them chase me around the Quidditch field for a bit. This school's feeling a bit stifling these days."

"I know what you mean."

Harry did not forget his conversation with Ron, no matter how hard he tried to brush the subject aside whenever it came up. There did seem to be something different about Draco Malfoy, however. It did not make itself apparent right away. First, there was the oddity of his anticlimactic arrival. The haughtiness had not disappeared, but there was something in it less hostile, less confident; it seemed to Harry, though he might not have been able to articulate it himself, more of a delinquent demeanor than the all-too-familiar bravado of the rich, spoiled heir. Second, while he had reintegrated himself into his old social circle without difficulty, he seemed less inclined to interact with his housemates and showed even _less _interest in his old hobby of intimidation and bullying. It was this second observation that baffled Harry the most. Draco Malfoy was both the subject of frequent gossip, and yet, apparently, had otherwise faded into the general social background of Hogwarts for all intents and purposes. Was Malfoy keeping to himself more than usual? Was he keeping company with new faces these days?

As for their old rivalry, which had progressed from bitter antagonism to outright violence by their sixth year, Draco seemed to have decided he had more important things on his mind with which to be preoccupied. If he happened to make eye contact with Harry in the feast hall or in class, he merely looked away with the same cold air of dismissal that now irked him to distraction. Harry was inclined to take this behavior as his way of showing gratitude. But, in the end, it was this odd transformation that finally awoke Harry's curiosity, after the numb shell shock of a tragic year. He began to listen a little more closely when the gossip sprang up again.

It seemed that everyone was interested not only in who Malfoy might be dating, but the whole seventh year class seemed to be irritatingly obsessed with who was hooking up with who. Harry had himself dodged several hundred questions about Ginny on several hundred separate occasions, until he finally bit someone's head off in the common room. When the questions were replaced with curious looks and whispers then after, he guessed word of his outburst must have quickly spread. _Good_, he thought bitterly. The less said about _that_ subject, the better…


	2. Infatuation

**Infatuation**

It is a very strange thing, how chance works. On a day that was particularly dismal, it somehow came to be that Harry found himself alone with Draco in the library. Ron had disappeared a couple of hours ago with his chess set, and Harry knew he would be visiting Hermione once again. Not wanting to be around anyone and feeling rather pressured by impending exams, Harry had made a rare visit to the library, where he found Draco sitting alone at a desk by a corner window.

Draco glanced up, noticed him, and returned to reading with a dismissive twitch of the lips before Harry could sneak back out. So, pretending not to acknowledge his presence, he found a seat on the complete opposite end of the room and opened his Transfiguration text with a silent sigh. Between Ron's distraction, the incessant school gossip, and his own PTSD, It was nearly impossible to get anything done these days. Now, Draco Malfoy, once again.

Harry bent his head over his parchment and managed to eke out a first paragraph before he became immersed in his writing. A half hour passed before he realized he'd spent it productively, and for a moment, he thought everything might work out after all. However, at that point, he made the mistake of sneaking a glance at Draco, who had not made a sound the whole time.

Malfoy was leaning back now, his feet kicked up upon the table, stretching and staring at the ceiling. As he sat back up, he caught Harry watching him, grinned and winked. Harry quickly looked back at his essay, but not before rolling his eyes with the slightest hint of disdain; or so he hoped. After ten more minutes, he heard a loud sigh and looked up to see Draco levitating his books one by one with an extremely bored expression on his face.

Every once in a while, Draco stole a look in his direction, but Harry ignored him. It was so strange; the two of them being there in that room and saying nothing to each other, and it was all he could do to concentrate. He heard Malfoy get up and begin to wander around the room, whistling. Now he was certain Malfoy was trying to get his attention. He was determined to ignore him. He lasted about three minutes.

"Would you mind not doing that?"

"What? Oh, the whistling?" Harry returned Draco's innocent look with a

scathing glare, but the whistling did stop. It was no use staring at his essay, he knew; it was not going to get any longer. But he stubbornly plugged on, ignoring the sound of Malfoy pulling books off the shelves, only to slap them shut a moment later and replace them with various muttered comments.

"Why didn't you just tell McGonagall the truth?" Harry suddenly asked. Malfoy, who was only a table away at this point, snorted, but didn't answer. This irritated Harry. He had asked a simple question; it wasn't as if he were trying to start something. It was extremely rude of Malfoy to snub him after he'd covered for him when he hadn't had to.

"I _did_ start to tell them, actually," Draco suddenly said. "Then I realized, as soon as I said that Ravenclaw's name, hey wait a minute! I'm Draco Malfoy! Who'd actually believe me?" He laughed, and Harry was a little taken aback by a look of bitterness that flickered over his sharp features.

"So I take it he didn't back you up?"

"No, he didn't." Draco did not elaborate.

"Well, that was bloody rotten of him."

At this, Draco gave him a withering look that seemed to suggest Harry was the dimmest person he'd ever met.

"Oh really? You think so? Well, you don't really know anything about it, do you, so who are you to judge? Or, I suppose I've forgotten that's one of your favorite hobbies."

Harry was blown away by this cold response to what he'd thought was a very generous attempt of his to express sympathy. He glared at him for a moment, waiting to be acknowledged.

"Is it just the fact that you're possessed by the soul of the undead, or are you really that determined to hate me?" He said finally. Draco actually turned and grinned widely at this.

"Aw, Potter, I never knew you had such warm feelings for me."

Harry thought he rather regretted engaging Malfoy in conversation at all, and bent his head back down to the work in front of him, his face growing warm with annoyance. Malfoy came over to him, however, and sat at the edge of his table, pretending to flip interestedly through a dusty old tome.

"How do you think it would have sounded," he continued, drawling in his infuriatingly patient voice, "if I had explained to McGonagall that I _couldn't_ have poisoned anyone, because I was in the bathroom snogging Brian at the time; and he came in and denied everything? I honestly think," he continued, now putting his book down over Harry's parchment so that Harry could no longer write, "she would have been disappointed that I couldn't come up with a better story."

"I don't see why she would be surprised, considering your sex life is all anyone can talk about these days," Harry muttered under his breath.

"Is it really? I hadn't noticed." Draco continued to flip through the book that now covered Harry's work. Exasperated, Harry yanked his parchment from underneath Draco's and stood up. He was accomplishing nothing here. As he packed his things and headed for the door, Draco stood up and followed him. "Not that I've had any trouble with offers, come to think of it-" Harry tried to ignore him, but Draco was making it rather difficult by following him so closely. He had to get away from here; this was a mistake-coming back to Hogwarts-it was _all _a mistake. _It would be really nice to be outside, right now, on the Quidditch field_-

"-once they found out Blaise wanted me," Draco was saying, "next thing you know, they _all_ want me. I suppose I could have had any number of them do my homework in exchange for a few favors, but that didn't go over so well with Brian. Even so, I'd say I get more action than…well, pretty much…_anyone_ in the entire school. Except for Ginny Weasley. Now _there's_ a girl who gets around more than the bloody Knight Bus."

Harry dropped his bag, turned around and faced Draco, who was wearing a smirk that made it all too clear that he knew he was finally getting to him. His face burned and he had the sudden urge to hit him in the mouth. But he restrained himself. Some part of him could not help wondering why it was so important to Draco to goad him with this information. It was not as if it were something he should be proud of; so why was he?

"Great, Malfoy, so you're the biggest whore in the whole school. That's nice to know. God only knows what you've been up to all this time; you were scarce enough when everyone else was dying left and right." He noted with some satisfaction a deepening in Draco's palor at this remark. "Well if you don't mind, I think that's enough for me. See you in class."

He started to leave, but Draco had gotten in the way, leaning casually against the door so that Harry could not open it.

"Out of the way," Harry said in a calm, threatening voice, and he felt a familiar rush of adrenaline coursing throughout his body; he had not felt this angry in a long time, nor had he really felt _anything_ other than a numb sense of apathy for the past two years.

Draco merely smiled at this, and was looking at him with a very unnerving expression of curiosity.

"I'm just making conversation with you, Potter. Just trying to be amiable; after all, you did stick up for me with McGonagall. Why are you in such a hurry? You know what _I_ was thinking…" and suddenly, Draco was moving in too close, and Harry took a step back, his pulse racing. "You look a little flushed. Maybe _you_ _want me too_. Is that it, Potter?" Draco was leaning in uncomfortably close, but Harry felt that he was taunting him more than flirting with him. "You want to know what it's like?"

Harry's fist came back and shot right into Draco's face, splitting his lip. Draco doubled over, blood trickling from between his fingers as he covered his face with a hand. Harry stalked past and out of the room.

Hours later, after several laps around the Quidditch field at breakneck speed, Harry's anger had subsided. In its place was a growing, nagging guilt. He touched down on the field and began slowly strolling back to the school, his mind heavy. Why did it bother him so much, what he'd done? He tried to call back to memory all the awful things Malfoy had ever done, telling himself he deserved it.

But it wasn't helping; the only thing that came back to memory was the sight of Malfoy, covering his face, and that strangled, hurt laugh of surprise as he pushed past. Even though he was still being a git, he was different, and there was no denying that. Besides, hadn't Harry been saying he'd had enough of violence? He sighed at this last thought, giving into the guilt. He was just going to have to deal with it. From now on, he would simply do his best to avoid Malfoy.

As soon as class let out, he headed up to the hospital wing to see how Hermione was doing. He took the steps two at a time, his mind going in a million directions at once. There was so much to do. Visit Hermione, who would undoubtedly interrogate him over whether or not he'd finished his essay for McGonagall, meet Ron for their study session in the Gryffindor common room, and then there was the fact that Hermione's attacker had still not been discovered…a fact that was gnawing at him more and more. The nightmares had intensified since the incident, as well as his guilt for not doing what he would have done in the past, and getting to the bottom of it.

Then there was Malfoy, still on his mind, whether it was the thought of him shamelessly making out with a boy in the bathroom, who would later betray him-whatever Malfoy's excuse-or the idea that Harry had hurt him, and he'd shown no interest in retaliation. He'd half expected to be assigned to detention after the library incident, though the aftermath of mixed guilt was punishment enough. However, when Malfoy returned to dinner that evening with a bruised nose and split lip, no one seemed too interested in questioning him. Why he felt so awful about hitting Malfoy, he could not understand. For the hundredth time, he tried chalking it up to his general distaste for violence these days. How things had changed…

On the second landing he trudged more slowly, his steps becoming as laborious as his thoughts. Then Harry stopped; for a moment he thought he'd heard a muffled noise coming from that floor, just a little ways down the hall. Curious, he paused and listened. The portraits on the wall gazed at him, stopping their own conversations and activities briefly to see what he wanted before resuming their business.

He could have sworn he heard a male voice that was quickly hushed by another. An old uneasiness returned to him and he frowned, thinking of the initial uproar caused by Hermione's malady. He was torn with indecision. What should he care, what other students at Hogwarts had to whisper behind closed doors about? It didn't have anything to do with him anymore, did it? He had put all those things behind them, and hoped never to open that dark closet for a very long time. But the voices sounded a little more forceful now. One was protesting the slightest bit. The other seemed to be cold and calm-and Harry's curiosity got the better of him.

He padded softly on the carpet in the hall, trying to follow the noises. He did not have far to go. The doors on this hall were not usually open, but to his immediate left, he saw that one of them was just cracked open. He went to it and slowly, carefully, put his ear against the opening. The noises were coming from in there, but it had grown quiet. He heard some muffled movement, and wondered, his heart pounding, if whoever was in there knew that someone was listening outside. Then he heard low talking again and knew that he had not been discovered. Taking a deep breath, he put his eye to the door.

At first, it being dimly lit, he could see very little. As his eye sight adjusted, his first impression was of an extremely cluttered, forgotten classroom that had been used for storage space for at least thirty years. The room was not as large as the regular classrooms in Hogwarts; it looked as if it might seat about twelve students. Perhaps it had been used for selective classes in earlier days. He did not see anyone right away, but he became aware of the muffled sounds across the room. Two writhing, dark figures were entwined in some fierce, odd erotic battle at the far end. Harry's face grew warm with the slightest tinge of shame as he cracked the door just a little bit more, for he could have _sworn_ he'd seen a fleck of Slytherin green-

Blaise Zabini pushed away from the table against which he was leaning, and dropped the Slytherin robe onto the ground beside him. Naked from the waist up, his brown body looked muscular and adult. But the robe was not his; his own had already been discarded halfway across the room. Harry saw him reach forcefully around with his left arm and pull someone toward him, and it was Malfoy. Malfoy, his robe gone, his chest now bare and vulnerable-looking in the dark room next to Zabini's chocolate skin, his hair falling away from his face as he leaned back, lips parted, and gasped while Zabini hungrily kissed his chin, throat, and chest. Malfoy's legs, still in their dark-colored jeans, wrapped spastically around Zabini's waist, and he was pulled closer and attacked from the other side of his neck in response.

The two Slytherins were at an angle that, while obscuring most of Zabini's face-and any possible view of Harry unless he were to turn around-allowed a glimpse of Malfoy's to be seen whenever he disentangled himself. Harry could not hear what they were saying, but every once in a while Malfoy would respond to some comment from Zabini, and they would fall into another bout of rough, passionate kissing. It was not just the sight of Malfoy with another boy that held him rooted there, mesmerized with astonishment. It was the way Malfoy made love with such abandon, the way he seemed to respond helplessly to every caress, every kiss, the contours of his slim, pale body twisting constantly with the hard, brown one pressed against him. Harry had a feeling that even if Malfoy knew he was being watched, he would not care.

At one point, Malfoy suddenly flinched and tried to push Zabini off. Harry guessed from the look of it that Zabini had bitten him a little too hard around the neck. At this, however, Zabini quickly slapped him in the face, the _smack_ sounding harsh and loud against the muffled sounds of their passion. Malfoy's head whipped to the side and he gasped, covering the area with one palm. Harry had to bite back a gasp himself, momentarily stunned by this abuse. Unknowingly, his hand had gone straight to his wand.

But a second later, Malfoy did not appear to be hurt; in fact, he was looking into Zabini's face, mouth open, with an expression of ardent worship. Harry felt his breath catch in his throat. Malfoy, who seemed only newly energized by the reprimand, wrapped his arms around Zabini's neck and plunged into a kiss so deep he threw the other boy off balance, toppling them both onto the table. There was a moment when, apart from his legs, which kicked and wound around Zabini's, Malfoy could no longer be seen in the tussle that followed. But then Zabini pushed him down and sat up, straddling his waist, caressing his chest with long, teasing strokes that ventured over his thighs and back up to his throat.

Malfoy lay there, his back arching under each touch, his red lips emitting fresh moans and pants as he turned his head to one side. The blond hair now covered his face, framing it in a bright paleness that starkly contrasted with the shadows that filled the room. At that moment, the light behind Harry seemed to hit him right in his grey eyes, for they suddenly glinted, catlike. Quickly, softly, he closed the door to where it had been and stood back, his breathing coming out in quick, nervous pants. Had Malfoy seen him watching? And had he really been standing there, all that time, watching them like a peeping tom, all the while his blood rushing, his temperature rising like mercury held next to a boiling cauldron?

"Harry!"

Hermione was sitting up, her eyes brightening and a wide smiling showing that she was very glad to see him. Harry smiled back, but he felt troubled and wondered if his smile was convincing. She usually knew when something was wrong, they had been through so much together…Suddenly, there was a lump in his throat. He wasn't sure if he would be able to speak.

"How are you?"

"Shouldn't I be asking that?" he replied, coming over to her bed and taking a seat in a chair beside her. The lump in his throat subsided, just a little. She held out her hand, still beaming, and he took it in his. He could see that not one but several books, as usual, were open in her lap. She must have been studying, not wanting to fall behind. Harry was certain that, once again as usual, she was probably ahead of everyone else even after having missed a few days of classes.

"I'm all right. Really, it's quite relaxing in a way. Not much different from the library. I wouldn't have minded a spot closer to the window, though."

"You aren't missing much. Weather hasn't been all that special."

The gloominess of the hospital wing seemed only enhanced by the drudgery outside, but he sympathized with Hermione. He wouldn't have minded being outside right now, in the wet fog; anything that might cool down this fever that roiled inside him. _Did it turn you on?_ The voice in his head sounded, he thought, a little too much like Malfoy's. _Did you like watching me, Potter? _ For a moment he really thought he was going to be sick-

"Well, I reckon I'll be out soon enough. She told me one more-Harry? Are you all right? You aren't looking very well," Hermione frowned suddenly, peering at him with an owlish expression.

"I'm fine." _Maybe you want me, too. _"Haven't been sleeping much." He smiled weakly at her. Even though she said nothing, a shadow had come over her face that he knew meant she was remembering a time when Harry Potter not sleeping spelled nothing but trouble for everyone. But a moment later it was gone, and she smiled in a way he supposed was meant to be encouraging.

"Just two more months, Harry. Then we'll be gone from this place. Gone for good."

The silence of the boys' dormitory did little to calm the sound of his heart thudding in his chest. Patiently, insistently, it pumped the blood through his body at a rate just slightly faster than usual. He'd been lying awake for three hours, long after Ron, Seamus and Dean had dropped off and all noise in the common room died away. He knew by now it was going to be a long night. His mind was awake and busy; but did it really matter, he wondered? Even if he _could_ drop off to sleep, his dreams would be just as troubling as his waking thoughts. He had not slept soundly for two years. There were too many memories to come and haunt him in his dreams; enough to last a lifetime.

But now _this_ was keeping him awake. Tonight it was Malfoy, naked, alluring, erotic, that filled his mind. There was no fighting the obsession that was taking hold, and now that he'd made it through the day without revealing his secret, and now that his best friend was asleep and oblivious to his torment, he gave in, resigned, sinking into the sickeningly sweet ennui that had been threatening to swallow him all day.

Blaise and Draco, _boyfriends._ Harry could not fathom having a _boyfriend_. It was an intriguing thought, and he chewed on it for a while, thankful for the safety of these private hours. Once, it seemed almost a lifetime ago, he had seen Ginny Weasley with Dean Thomas, _her_ boyfriend at the time, and been similarly struck with desire. After that he had fallen in love with her; or, as the teachers liked to say, "infatuation." It was true that he cared about her, and even now the thought of how they'd grown apart pained him. He still cared about her, he supposed, in spite of the numb apathy that had lately become a defining characteristic of his personality. Her passion had awakened his own, last year, and it seemed she was the only one who could match the intensity of his desire.

He thought about her now, calling up every memory of her that he could think of. He saw her reddish-brown hair, frank, knowing smile, her beautiful, supple body. He remembered the faint smell of flowers that always seemed to linger wherever she passed. But when he thought of Ginny now, it was almost in the same way he thought of Cho; with a vague, protective fondness. Ginny had always been right up front in a fight, and for that he loved her. But she no longer had the power to stir his passion.

His mind wandered and he was only vaguely aware of its conclusions as his thoughts turned again to Draco Malfoy. For as long as he'd known him, Malfoy had been a thorn in his side. He was always there, ready to stick a nose in when there was a moment with friends to be enjoyed, or a situation in which they might be vulnerable to unpleasant events. Then there had been his attack on Dumbledore, which had led to his death, and then all out civil war…

But Draco Malfoy, like Harry, had come out the other side a transformed person. There was something about him that, beneath the reckless, showy bravado, spoke to Harry in an irresistible whisper. He knew, though he didn't know how he knew, that something terrible had happened to Draco that year. He did not know what it was; his encounter with Voldemort and the Death Eaters, the killing of Dumbledore at the hands of Professor Snape, perhaps his own family, disgraced and banished, leaving him abandoned to return to an empty, decaying mansion. But where he'd once known only a spoiled, dangerously ambitious prat, he now recognized the familiar, haunting look of someone who, deep down inside, no longer cared what happened to him. It was the same look he saw on his own face in the mirror every morning, when no one else was looking.

However, unlike Harry, Malfoy had managed to latch onto something that allowed him to experience passion, to give voice to the unutterable screams from the deepest void of loneliness. Harry surmised, remembering the open-mouthed expressions of unbridled ecstasy, that the Slytherin had found his drug of choice, and he gave himself up to it freely and fully whenever he got the chance. He felt heat in his own face with these thoughts, and he felt a little squirmy as he realized he was now sweating under his sheets. How was Malfoy able to let himself go, make himself so vulnerable like that? Harry's hand left the back of his head, which it had been supporting on the pillow, and wandered absently down his chest and thigh.

He lay still for a moment, terrified by the temptation that presented itself; a thrilling fire was spreading under his skin, his fingers tingled as he lightly touched his inner thigh. Ron's snores were coming through regularly; the rest of the room was silent. _What's so wrong with it?_ _Which is worse_, he wondered; _thinking of my best friend's baby sister, or Draco Malfoy?_ Malfoy filled his mind's eye again, his head thrown back as he moaned and gasped at every touch delivered by Blaise. Yes, Malfoy would do anything to be touched that way, that much was quite clear; moments later, Harry imagined he would have erupted into a piercing climax, after which he would have perhaps collapsed into Zabini's arms-no, no. Not Zabini's…but rather, into Harry's. Harry could not imagine Blaise holding Malfoy with real affection, even in the aftermath of their rapture.

Only Harry, who had known the pain Malfoy felt, would have been able to hold him, to calm his panting, trembling body, sharing his agony. It was _he _who should be sharing such intimacy with Draco; and that's what killed him. _Maybe everyone _does _want him, but _I'm _the one who deserves to have him, _Harry told himself, frowning. And he wiped Zabini from the picture and placed himself there instead, his hungry mouth running over the writhing body of his enemy, his rival, his prey. His hand moved down in between his legs as he ran a tongue over his lips, imagining the taste of salt, of tears, the smell of Draco's body, which would still give off the faint scent of expensive cologne. He breathed hard as his body tingled with the thrill of being touched, highly aroused and fighting with his shame.

_Maybe you want me too,_ the Malfoy in his head said teasingly, hopefully, as he leaned his forehead against Harry's and stroked his face. _They all want me, Harry, but it's _you_ I want_. Harry rubbed more furiously, the fight lost as he imagined kissing him, tasting his tongue. Malfoy's breath would be hot against his neck, his mouth would be wet as he kissed Harry's chest softly, his lips fluttering against the skin, approaching his nipple…then he would reach up and grab a handful of the blonde hair in his fist and push him back against the table, rubbing _hard_ against him-

Harry's excitement reached its powerful climax. With his other hand, he pulled his pillow toward his mouth and turned his face into it. "_Draco!_" he breathed, the explosion forceful, delicious, unbelieveable. Panting, he lay still, waiting for his heartbeat to slow down, feeling the slight chill of the room as his sweat cooled. He almost sighed with relief when he heard another soft snore from the direction of Ron's bed. It was with a mixture of slow horror and giddy, secret delight that he realized what he'd just done. It wasn't that bad…_was _it? It was only one time, tomorrow the spell of his fantasy would be forgotten, and he would be back to normal.

_So I have a warped and twisted imagination, so what else is new, _he thought wryly. Why shouldn't he? Everything else about his life had always been completely out of the ordinary, and there wasn't much he could do about that. He took a little comfort from these thoughts, and it was not long before he dropped off into a deep, luxurious slumber, bothered by only the mildest nightmares.


	3. Rescued

**Rescued**

"So, heard any news?" Ron asked hopefully, as he always did at least once on the hour.

"Nope."

They were sitting with Hermione, who was sitting up in bed stubbornly trying to finish her essay while the boys chatted, played chess and traded chocolate frogs around her. Ron frowned, and his face darkened.

"Bloody disturbing, that they still haven't found anyone. If I knew, if I had _any _idea at _all_…"

"We all know what you'd do, Ron. You'd be the first one to my rescue. I know. They'll find them, eventually." Hermione's practical tone did nothing to assuage Ron's ire.

"Yeah, but still! They could be running around school, planning something worse this time, and you could have-"

"But I _didn't_," Hermione said rather sternly, looking up at him now. Harry said nothing; he was used to their disagreements by now, but he had a feeling that Hermione's aggravation might have had more to do with her own anxiety than she was willing to let on. "Besides, I still don't think they really meant to. It doesn't add up. Probably just some malicious striking out from leftover bad feelings. Or, who knows…maybe even a prank." She didn't sound very convinced.

"I only hope you're right, Hermione. Hey, Harry, guess what?" Ron's face suddenly lost its serious expression and now seemed positively lit with a mischevious grin.

"What?"

"Did you hear that Malfoy-"

"Not _Malfoy_ again!" Harry groaned, genuinely disturbed. He had finally broken down and told Ron about how he'd seen Draco with the Ravenclaw named "Brian" in the bathroom, and even what he'd witnessed with Blaise Zabini. What he'd left out, of course, was enough detail to betray the exact effects of these encounters on him, but somehow telling him and joking about it made the memory of his lustful fantasies seem less powerful. In fact, he'd been feeling pretty good about the chances that he did not _actually_ have a crush on Draco. But since he hadn't seen him in a while, he was still a little nervous.

"Wait, wait! This is too good."

"All right, tell us. Who's he holding hands with now?"

Hermione giggled. She had been the most amused by the gay-Malfoy revelation by far.

"You ready for this? You too, Hermione…"

"WHO?!?" Harry and Hermione said.

"Cormac McLaggen."

It was evident from the look of utter glee on Ron's face that they'd reacted just the way he'd hoped.

"Oh Ron! _Stop_ it!"

"I'm _serious_, Hermione!" Ron squeaked, dodging a fist to his shoulder. "I didn't make it up! Come on, even you know that's _too_ good for me to make up."

"You've got to be kidding," Harry muttered. "That's just…"

"Sick, isn't it?" Ron laughed out loud. "I never liked Cormac-" he shot Hermione a nervous glance, "-but I wouldn't have pegged him...you know."

"Me _neither_! You would never know, from…" Hermione trailed off, her mouth twitching as Ron glowered. "Well, you'd just never know."

"Hey, Harry, are you _here, _mate?"

"Huh? Oh, yeah…Cormac, that's funny…"

Cormac McLaggen. Pressing up against Draco, _kissing _him, doing things like what Zabini did, on some desk in a classroom somewhere…For some reason, Harry thought he was going to be sick again.

"-certainly gets around, doesn't he," Hermione said thoughtfully.

"He certainly does."

"You all right, Harry?"

"Yeah. I just remembered, I've got…" Hermione raised an eyebrow, now looking intrigued. Without finishing his sentence, he stood up, nervously rubbing the back of his neck, and left, not noticing the befuddled look exchanged between the other two.

_Cormac McLaggen. What could he possibly see in _Cormac

"Harry!"

"Ha?!"

"Seriously, Harry, what is _wrong_ with you? Hermione's right; you haven't been yourself lately." Ron looked upset. Harry focused on him for a moment, then realized he should have seen this coming. Hermione would no doubt think he was cracking, and she would have passed her fears onto Ron. If he didn't do something soon, he was never going to have a moment's peace from now on.

"I'm all right. It's just…" for a split second as they sat over their supper, Harry had to fight a driving urge to just tell Ron; tell him _everything_… "It's just this thing with Hermione, that's all."

Ron looked relieved, but very serious.

"Yeah, I know. I…I can't get it out of my head, either. I just wish I knew who could have done it. Personally, I'd put my money on anyone from Slytherin-"

They both glanced surreptiously at the table behind them, where the Slytherins sat in the same hushed, chatty manner that had pervaded Hogwarts since the beginning of the interrupted year. The stark contrasts between the houses, which in past years were usually reflected in the banners that hung about the dining hall, were nonexistent this year. In an unspoken effort to promote unity-competition between wizards being politically unfashionable these days­-the faculty had changed the school colors in each house to a uniform black and gold. Only the house symbols remained unchanged. One other unusual characteristic of this year was the sight of a student sitting at another house's table, although most students pretty much kept to their old cliques.

Harry noticed Draco sitting next to Zabini at the Slytherin table and felt a familiar lurching sensation in his stomach. Apparently, this was a full-blown crush after all. He was just going to have to endure it until it faded away, he supposed. He watched them for a moment as they talked over their food. They didn't look that much more friendly than usual.

Then he glanced around and caught sight of Cormac, sitting by himself and watching Draco as well. At this, a knot grew in his stomach in place of the lurching feeling, and Harry, though he did not know why, felt increasingly angry. Cormac was watching Draco without any attempt to be inconspicuous, his eyes seeming to bore into Draco's face. When Draco finally caught his gaze, he held it for a moment, and Harry was certain Draco had blown him a barely-perceptible kiss before turning back to Zabini with a smile. What the hell was going on?! Disgusted, he turned back to his own food, no longer very hungry. _They all want me..._

"Just figures," Ron was saying. He also, apparently, had noticed the exchange. "You get a rough guy like Cormac, who has a reputation for pushing himself onto women who aren't interested; next thing you know, he goes after the biggest slut in school. Even if it _is_ a bloke," Ron laughed.

"This place is getting weirder and weirder," Harry said in a low voice, and Ron laughed harder, as did several Gryffindors who happened to overhear them.

"You are so right about that."

"You know something, Ron?"

"What?" Ron looked up, surprised at Harry's definite tone.

"I never realized this before, but I really _don't_ like Cormac. He's a bloody meathead."

"I never liked him much myself," Ron answered, this time without laughing. Harry picked at his food again, glad at least he could share _this_ much with his best friend.

They were sitting in Potions with Professor Slughorn, working silently on some grueling, foul-smelling experiment. Slughorn seemed to have lost his bubbly façade in latter months; Harry hadn't heard a word about the so-called "Slug Club" since school started. Sighing, he looked at the clock over Slughorn's desk, which told him there were about five minutes left of class. He bent back down over his stinking cauldron, wondering why Slughorn insisted on making his students pay for his own lack of enthusiasm.

The door to the back of the classroom suddenly banged open, and someone rushed in, breathless. Startled, Harry turned with the rest of the class to see Draco bustling in, carrying his books sloppily in his arms. His backpack hung uselessly from one elbow, half empty. He cautiously approached Slughorn's desk, a rare expression of humility on his face as the teacher looked up with surprise. Harry felt a stab of pity; what had happened to Draco?

He heard Draco murmuring to Slughorn in a low voice, and guessed by Slughorn's unimpressed expression that Draco was asking if it were possible to make up the work. Without bothering to keep his voice down, Professor Slughorn said, "Well now, I can't see how you're going to do that. I'm afraid I have a staff meeting…although, hmmm…I suppose you can stay in the classroom, perhaps, if someone else is willing to stay behind and give you the instructions."

"I'll stay behind, sir," Harry said quickly, his voice seeming rather loud. But he did not care. He merely returned the instructor's mild look of surprise. Draco did not look at him. Instead, he gazed steadily at Slughorn's tie, flushing. "I'll help you, Draco," Harry said, feeling that he needed Draco's permission as well as Slughorn's.

"Very well, that's just fine, Harry, just fine. You can work with Harry, Draco." He was gathering his things as the rest of the class began to leave, the other students tossing curious glances at Harry. He refused to acknowledge Ron, who was staring at him with open-mouthed shock, and merely returned to his work. At least he'd have time to finish it, for once. Draco did not budge as the room emptied, until Ron finally stood up and left. Harry was relieved; he would deal his questions later.

After a moment, Draco approached, plopped his stuff heavily on the floor, and sat down across from Harry. Harry looked up and noted the guarded, angry and uncertain expression in Draco's bright eyes. But something else caught his attention: a dark, greenish bruise just under Draco's left eye. Harry froze for a moment before he remembered not to stare. He looked down at his ingredients instead and pushed the cauldron closer to Draco, who looked into it, glanced at the ingredients and began taking notes.

He stammered through some instructions as Draco copied, and it was some time before he stole a look up at his old rival again. When he did, he could see that the bruise under the eye was not the only one he carried. On his neck were traces of purple and green. He also had what looked like a thin, fresh scrape at the base of the throat. Draco continued his work, seemingly oblivious to Harry altogether. His blond hair hung over his face and he bent over the cauldron so gingerly that Harry was struck with the impression that Draco was a lot more frail than he looked. He could contain his curiosity no longer.

"Hey, Draco, what happened to your face?"

"What happened to yours?" Draco responded without missing a beat. It was more of a quip than a brush off, but the message was clear. Harry tried something else.

"I…I hope that's not from me."

At this, Draco looked up, mildly surprised. He shook his head slowly.

"No, not you."

"Oh, good. I mean…erm…I suppose I got a bit carried away that day, in the library…"

Draco shrugged this off, and Harry felt embarrassed. That was not how he would have liked his apology to come out, and he'd only been thinking about it for days…he decided he'd best give up on trying to have friendly conversation with Draco. Maybe it was simply impossible. He tried to ignore the rising heat under his skin as he felt Draco, so close, just inches away from his forbidden touch. He wanted to comfort him, to caress him, even to kiss him. _DAMMIT!!!_ He sighed. _Damn crush_. _It wasn't this bad with Cho,_ he remembered. It wasn't quite that bad with Ginny, either. But back then, he'd had other things to think about; and after all, he was older, now. _Maybe it just gets worse from here on_, he mused. He was surprised when Draco suddenly spoke, dispelling the awkwardness.

"So did you ever piece out what happened to Granger?" he asked, still cutting up ingredients, his eyebrows knitted with concentration.

"No," Harry replied, relieved at the broken silence. "But it was a pretty nasty bit of work."

"Daresay it was," Draco murmured, seemingly intent on his potions work. He chewed on one lip thoughtfully, and Harry shook himself, realizing he was staring again.

"Our first thought, of course, was that it's because she's…you know, Muggle-born." This was an extremely sensitive topic, and Harry felt his own shock at hearing the words coming from his mouth. But it was an important test; he could not hold off his curiosity; just how much _had_ Draco changed since the defeat of Voldemort?

But Draco appeared unphased. He huffed as he carefully poured a tiny bottle of ashes into the cauldron.

"Unlikely. Bet you ten to one it's some bird with a personal problem."

Harry looked up at him at this, openly surprised.

"What makes you say that?" he asked warily. Draco shrugged.

"I just think people are more wrapped up in their little dramas than ever, that's all. Nobody cares anymore about that stuff. No one gives a damn about _who_ anyone's parents are, I'll warrant."

The thought that Hermione's malady might be nothing but a prank-albeit a malicious one-had not even occurred to Harry, and it seemed an odd thought. But he stored it away in the back of his mind to revisit later. Perhaps one of the Gryffindors would know someone who had disliked Hermione enough to want trouble. But now that the boys were talking, actually _talking_, Harry found himself aware of a growing excitement that wasn't attributable only to his attraction to Draco. There were so many things to learn about him now, now that they were no longer really, truly _enemies_…but what exactly _were_ they?

"So…how's Zabini?"

Draco looked up, evidently shocked, then he smirked.

"He's never been better, has he. Quite popular, the little prick."

"So is he really your boyfriend?"

Draco raised an eyebrow, as if to ask why Harry might be so interested, but Harry was relieved this inquiry did not lead to a counter-interrogation.

"Yeah. Well…I mean, I suppose. Sort of." And then Draco blushed. "It's…"

"Complicated?" Harry grinned, and a smile tugged at the corners of Draco's lips as his eyes took on a far off expression.

"Yeah. You could say that."

"I see. Well, you've certainly given everyone a lot to talk about."

At this the Slytherin scowled.

"I don't see why. Doesn't anyone have anything else to talk about these days?"

"Oh come on. I thought you always wanted to be famous."

"Yeah well, shows how much you know, d'nit?"

Harry was quiet for a moment after this, thinking about how he could ask Draco about his bruises again. A theory had been formulating in his mind, and he could not stop thinking about it.

"Well, exactly how many boyfriends do you have, if you don't mind me asking-"

"Why, you want to stand in line?" Draco responded mildly, and Harry flushed, but tried to ignore this.

"Well, it's just, I heard something about _Cormac_ the other night-"

"You know, you seem very interested in my love life all of a sudden. What exactly do you want from me, Potter?"

Draco had put down the ingredients he was working with, and now looked Harry with an expression that unnerved him terribly in its frankness. He knew all too well that Draco had every right to ask this question, and he wished he'd spent more time preparing for it before he started pushing his nose into Draco's business. He shrugged weakly, improvising.

"I don't know. I'm just curious, I guess. I mean…_Cor_mac…" he started slowly, avoiding Draco's piercing eyes, "…he seems a little…well, let's just say he's not the romantic type. A bit unstable, actually. Do you know he went out with Hermione once?"

"I know. He took her to Slughorn's party. I remember," Draco said in a straight tone that had a hint of iciness to it. Harry remembered very clearly that Draco had not been invited to that particular party, and felt a tinge of embarrassment. What was he getting at?

"Well, anyway, is it true?"

"_Why_?"

"I just want to know. Is it true, or not?"

"It's true, you git! Bloody hell!" Draco was standing up, putting away his things as if he'd had enough of Harry.

"Oh, okay…" Harry didn't quite know what to do now that he had the information he wanted. All he could think of was the sinking, sick feeling in his stomach at the thought that Draco was with Cormac. He could not help but ponder the fact that somehow, Cormac was much harder to stomach than Zabini. At least Zabini was another Slytherin. At least Zabini did not seem to care _who_ Draco fooled around with intermittently.

"I take it Blaise doesn't mind, eh?" Harry pressed, wondering at his nerve. Draco was standing and looked at him incredulously for a full minute before answering.

"Blaise dumped me, Potter. I _was_ his boyfriend. He decided there were other fish in the sea and he was tired of scaring me off. So _yes_, in a way, I'm with him, and no, I'm not. Anything else? Would you like me to give you a detailed history of my failed relationships, so you can tell your _Gryffindor_ friends and have a good laugh?"

"Hey! Just relax, will you? I'm not a gossip!" Harry was horrified and had also stood up, but Draco was stalking past him. He grabbed his forearm, suddenly, noticing for a split second that it was the arm upon which the faded Dark Mark could still be seen. Draco spun and faced him, his face white with a mixture of fear and fury.

"_What?!?!_"

"Who hit you in the face?!"

Draco jerked his arm out of Harry's grip and stalked off down the aisle to the door.

"Who hit you in the face?!" Harry shouted after him.

"None of your _fucking business_!" Draco said forcefully, turning to give Harry one final look of blistering disgust before he disappeared in the hallway. Harry stood there, breathing hard, aware that his face was warm and that he'd made an utter fool of himself, most likely ruining his chances of ever patching up things with Draco, let alone…But, he reflected as he slowly gathered his things, he'd gotten his answer, hadn't he?

It would be another two weeks before Harry would find himself crossing paths with Draco again, but this was not for lack of trying. It seemed that with each passing day, his infatuation with Draco grow stronger. Seeing him in the hallways or out around the school grounds, usually accompanied by McLaggen, usually sent a stab of jealousy through him. Baffled by his situation, he became moodier than ever, and after a while Ron gave up trying to engage him in conversation with any real depth.

Aside from the time he spent with Ron and Hermione in the hospital wing, he was the most out of touch with his friends he'd ever been. It wasn't until Hermione was released in time for a trip to Hogsmeade, which happened to fall on a very lovely spring day, that the three Gryffindors found themselves in a rare celebratory mood. They picnicked outside in a clearing not far from the Shrieking Shack-Hermione's idea-and for a little while, as they lazily watched their classmates milling around town, there was a strong illusion of the return to times past, when the world had held a lot less pain in it. Hogsmeade was quieter and more serene than it had seemed in the days of bustling business, when wizards widely denied Voldemort's return.

Hermione smiled a soft smile, a faraway, peaceful look in her eyes. She was completely unaware of Ron's adoring gaze, but Harry could not help but notice the warmth that emanated naturally between them. A sweet, aching sense of loneliness began to make itself known to him, and, feeling sentimental, he looked off toward town, wondering what Draco would be doing now. He had caught glimpses of Draco now and then, usually with McLaggen, but, he reflected, it seemed whenever you were looking around to see the one person who had the power to stop your breath, you could never get your fill.

"Whatcha thinking about, Harry?" Hermione asked, abruptly terminating a conversation with Ron about his family.

"I was thinking," Harry began slowly, still looking off toward town, "that we could use some butterbeer right about now."

"Here, here," Ron put in. "Too bad we didn't think to do it, though, before-"

"Actually, I was going to go get us some. I think I'm in the mood for a walk," Harry said, standing up and brushing some grass off of his jeans. "I'll be right back." And before his friends had time to be suspicious, he jogged toward the main street. _Spring fever_, he thought wryly. Being outside and away from the school seemed to make you feel as if you had all this pent up energy that was just waiting to be released in one big burst. It had been a while since he'd flown, for instance. As he approached Honeydukes, he reflected that he ought to make it a point to fly more before the year ended. The school had not held one Quidditch match since it reopened; that was a real shame…

As he entered Honeydukes, he decided to make a quick trip to the bathroom before getting the drinks. And it was then that, for the second time in the year, he pushed through a bathroom door to walk in on Draco Malfoy, carrying out his own spring activities. Cormac McLaggen had Draco against the far wall, and he leaned in close, one of his enormous, beefy arms propped along the wall, trapping his lover. Harry let out an exasperated sigh as Cormac turned and saw him.

"Pardon me, but there aren't any other restrooms in the building," he muttered angrily.

"Harry! How goes it with you these days?" Cormac smiled broadly, though it seemed to be a little forced, and turned to fully face him. He did not, however, take his arm from where it rested next to Draco's head. Harry did not catch Draco's eye, but nodded to Cormac grimly. They were from the same house, after all; even if he _didn't _like Cormac's pompous personality.

"It's difficult these days for me to avoid running into your boyfriend there, snogging someone or other, but aside from that, I suppose I'm well enough."

"Good, good…" Cormac nodded vaguely, seeming not to have registered Harry's words or his tone. He suddenly grinned, focusing his eyes on Harry. Harry decided immediately that he did not like the conspiratorial look in his eyes.

"I was just finishing up some business, myself, Harry. You remember Malfoy Jr…" he indicated Draco, and Harry looked at him for the first time. Draco's face looked paler than ever, and his eyes fixed on Harry's, wide and haunted. Harry felt a chill creep along his body from his head to his toes; for some reason, though he didn't know at the moment what was happening, he was struck with the conviction that he must not leave under any circumstances. The look on Draco's face told him all too clearly that something was terribly wrong. His stomach knotted up with the familiar feeling of loathing that he'd felt ever since he'd heard that Draco and Cormac were a couple. He looked from Draco to Cormac, rooted to his spot, but uncertain what it was he needed to do.

"Well, it just so happens that Draco here, and I, have some valuable things to learn from each other." With this, Cormac looked at Draco, lightly giving his chin a playful slap. He grinned an ugly grin that made Harry's blood boil. Draco did not look like he had enjoyed this slap in the same way he had enjoyed Zabini's, even though this one was much lighter. "I don't know if you've noticed, but he's made significant improvement in his social behavior since I've…well, I suppose you could say that I've taken him under my wing. Isn't that right, Draco?"

"Yeah," Draco murmured, clamping his mouth shut immediately. He looked again at Harry, and his eyes seemed to blaze a blue warning. Harry swallowed, his throat suddenly dry. He looked back at Cormac, who was now grinning knowingly back as if they were sharing some inside joke, and held his gaze.

"You know, I _have_ noticed a few things that are different about him. Been giving him makeovers, too?"

"Potter, piss off why don't you," Draco spat in a voice that said he was holding back considerably. But Harry sensed it was fear, and not anger, behind the sudden hostility.

"Well that was rather rude," McLaggen frowned. The large hand on the wall now clasped Draco behind the neck, shoving his head ever so slightly forward. "Apologize to my housemate, Malfoy."

"I'm sorry." Draco muttered. Harry was now truly horrified as he beheld Cormac's unsteady grin. It seemed as if the world had turned upside down; since when had Cormac shown such cruelty? What could Draco have possibly done to him to deserve this treatment? But before he could decide how to respond, Cormac had stepped closer to Harry, a smile still on his face, pushing Draco roughly along with him.

"I say, Harry. I expect you have a score or two to settle with him yourself, yeah? What say…" he looked at Draco with some satisfaction at the way the Slytherin avoided his eyes- "What say we give him a chance to fully atone for his mistakes." It was a command, not a question, and it seemed to Harry that Cormac's unspoken suggestion was undeniable proof that he had temporarily lost his mind.

"Draco, wouldn't you like to show Harry how truly reformed you are?"

"Yeah, I would," Draco said, looking at Harry with defiance.

"What are you talking about, McLaggen?" Harry's fists were clenching now. Every nerve in his body had ruled in favor of "fight" over "flight" at this point. He took a step forward as McLaggen gave Draco another shove, this time down toward the ground.

"Go ahead, Draco, show him how good you are. On your knees." He shoved Draco hard this time, and his knees buckled. Grabbing for one of the sinks to his left, Draco went down and caught himself before hitting the floor, but not before his head made contact with the edge of the sink. He staggered, and McLaggen kicked him in the back, sending him all the way to the floor.

"_Muffliato_," he hissed when Draco grunted, glancing nervously at the door.

But Harry had already pulled out his wand, his heart pounding fit to burst with rage, and he pointed it at McLaggen's forehead.

"_Crucio_," he said in a cold voice when the boy turned to him, surprise dawning on his features. And McLaggen dropped his wand, falling to his knees and clutching his sides as he convulsed in unfathomable pain. He screamed an unutterable protest through clenched teeth, and Harry stood over his body, watching him for a while as if through someone else's eyes. He felt no remorse whatsoever as McLaggen shrieked, his eyes filled with the insanity of torture. After a few minutes, Harry flicked his wand with an upward stroke, lifting the curse in his head.

As soon as the writhing pain stopped, McLaggen's eyes rolled back and his entire body relaxed, unconscious. Harry was gradually aware of the rapid breathing that was coming from where Draco sat on the floor behind him, watching. He turned, and Draco tore his eyes away from McLaggen's body to look up at Harry's. Suddenly Harry felt immobilized, and he stood there, frozen, his wand forgotten in his hand, feeling as if all time had stopped. Draco's grey eyes were bright, the color of a crisp sky in autumn, and he gazed at Harry with open awe…and a hint of terror.

"I.." he stammered, shook his head, then looked back at McLaggen. A surprised laugh escaped his lips, reminding Harry of the day in the library. His heart sank. He was a criminal, a monster! Is that what Draco would see when he looked at him now?

"Are you all right, Draco?" he said in a low voice, eyeing the new bruise on Draco's forehead. Draco seemed to have forgotten his own pain, however; he was peering curiously at McLaggen's face, as if to make sure he would not be getting up anytime soon. He looked up at Harry, who had dropped to a squat to get a better look at Draco's bruise.

"Yeah, I'm fine. Better than Cormac," he laughed. "Nice torture curse, Harry. I didn't think you had it in you, you know."

Harry could not take his eyes off of Draco's face. It had brightened with his nonchalant smile. He had never considered Draco anything more than a coward and a pampered prince in the days before Voldemort's demise, but now, as he leaned back against the bathroom wall with a look of unruffled satisfaction, Harry was struck by his resilience. He had lost everything-family, reputation, even security-and yet he had the look of someone who, aside from a few minor setbacks, had not a care in the world. Harry was filled with something like awe as he realized how much he had changed the way he saw Draco. A year ago, he would have been indifferent to any of his suffering, perhaps believing he had brought it on himself. Now, he admired him, and more than pitied him-he loved him. At least, he was beginning to think it was love…

"So…" Harry said after a brief silence while Draco checked his nose to see if it was bleeding, "I'm hoping this is the part where you tell me why you were ever with him to begin with."

"Oh, that. Well…thing is, he wasn't that bad at first. I honestly thought he was just a little rough, that's all. And it just so happens I like it that way…I mean, not like what he did, you understand, but-well…you see…" Draco flushed a bit as he looked into Harry's curious eyes, "…it's rather hard to explain. I mean even Blaise and I, we played around a little with it, but never anything too serious…"

"I know," Harry murmured, and Draco looked at him with surprise. "I saw you one day, on the third floor in that old classroom. I wasn't spying or anything, I just heard some noises and wanted to know what it was," he quickly explained. But Draco did not appear to feel violated by this revelation, nor the slightest bit embarrassed.

"_Re_ally," he said thoughtfully. "I'd had no idea we had an audience." He grinned and stood up, looking in one of the mirrors and inspecting his face. "So tell me the truth, what'd you think?"

Harry shrugged. "I thought you were freaks."

"That's it?" Draco grinned, and Harry felt the nervous fluttering feeling in the pit of his stomach again. Returning his gaze, he added, "Well, actually…I thought you looked kind of like a slut."

"Ah. _Ha_," Draco said, looking as if he were working something secret out in his head. "Well, Blaise brings out the best in me. What can I say."

"I see."

"Well, I'd better be getting back before _this_ wakes up…think it would be too much to cast something horrible on him before he does?"

Harry had stood up at these words, and glanced unfeelingly down at the enormous body of McLaggen. He shrugged.

"Why not? Go for it."

"Eh. Not feeling very creative at the moment."

Harry laughed as Draco turned to leave.

"Who are you, and what have you done with Malfoy? Oh, don't look so wounded, I'm only joking."

"I have other things to worry about these days!" Draco replied with something like a pout, which Harry found irresistibly adorable. "I'm not the one who dropped the sucker with the _cruciatus_, anyway." He clambered over McLaggen's body, kicking it in the ribs on his way to the door. Harry followed him, suddenly filled with an inexpressible ache. _Don't go just yet_, he wanted to say, and felt ashamed; Draco thought he was his hero, his liberator, and yet all he could think about was having him all to himself. What made him any better than McLaggen? _Some hero_.

Just as he was resigning himself to the likelihood that he would never be the one kissing his true love in the hallways of Hogwarts-or anywhere else, for that matter-Draco turned around as if in afterthought.

"By the way, thanks…yeah. I really mean that." He smirked, then suddenly, of his own accord, leaned over and gave Harry a soft peck on the lips. Harry froze as Draco placed a hand behind his neck to keep his balance. But when he started to pull away, Harry's own hand found his waist, and gently held him there.

"Wait," he said, his voice husky and his throat dry with nervousness, and then he couldn't say any more. Draco's eyes pierced his for a moment, questioning. Then, like a steam engine slowly gathering momentum, Draco slid both his hands around Harry's neck and gave him a proper, passionate kiss, his body pressing warmly against him. Harry felt his breath stop in his throat as he gathered Draco in his arms and kissed him back, intoxicated by the taste of his lips. It was almost too good to be true; he'd never let go, not in a million years…

When they finally pulled apart for a moment, Draco leaning his forehead happily against Harry's, he gave him a knowing grin.

"You've really got it bad!"

"I know," Harry breathed helplessly. "I know I do. You were right; from the very beginning I wanted you. I just didn't want to admit it."

"Yeah well, I'm always right." He kissed Harry again, his hands and fingers flirting with Harry's neck and chest, and finally broke away when Harry showed no signs of slowing down. "Well we really should be getting back."

"Yeah…" Harry loosened his hold on the slim waist reluctantly. "Draco,"

"Mm?" Draco was opening the bathroom door now; outside in the store, it looked like the crowd had been winding down.

"What are the chances, of…you know, maybe you and me? Being together?"

Draco looked back at him thoughtfully for a moment, then smiled that same, knowing smile, and led the way without a word.

_Great_, Harry thought as he followed. _Apparently learning "Girl" wasn't enough; now I've got to learn to speak "Draco."_


	4. Together: Part 1

**Together (Part 1)**

And that's how it began. What followed involves much more detail than deserves the tedious pages it would take to tell, but suffice it to say that, as I said in the beginning, Draco had Harry wrapped around his skinny little finger. And for weeks afterward, he continued to keep Harry guessing. Pining. Doubting. Agonizing. If it hadn't been a secret, if Harry could have told the world that he and Draco Malfoy were boyfriends, it might not have been so bad.

But since he couldn't, Harry found himself planning his daily life around the next possible moment that he would get to be with Draco alone (the idea of mixing their social circles, even in the calmed aftermath of post-civil war, was still unthinkable) and even when these moments came, he was never really sure what they meant until he _was_ alone with Draco. Then, Draco was all his, and he knew there was no one else in his world but he, Harry Potter.

Meanwhile, on an otherwise uneventful day, as Harry met Ron going out to the Quidditch field-casual practices had started up again with the warmer weather-he found his best friend pale and stunned.

"What's with you?" Harry asked playfully, drooping an arm around Ron's neck and pretending to slog him in the stomach.

"I found out who did it," Ron said, his voice numb. He did not seem to notice Harry's friendly roughness. Harry was shocked and stood quite still, oblivious to the teammates who stopped nearby to listen, interested.

"Who was it?" Harry's throat felt dry, and a familiar, dull anger beginning to pulse in his gut.

"Pansy Parkinson." Ron turned to face him, and Harry had the distinct impression that the shock on Ron's face must mirror his own.

"_Pansy?! Why?!"_

"Why? Can't you guess?"

"Oh yeah, I heard about that," Seamus interrupted. Dean and Angelina were nodding. "Angie here's been sayin' all year she was fancying you."

"That," Angelina added, "and she's always hated Hermione. Jealous you know. She couldn't get into Ancient Runes," she said knowingly. "It was a real disgrace; at least in her family."

"That…is the most ridiculous thing I have ever heard!" Ron shouted, as if the news had just come to his ears for the first time. He suddenly looked more like himself. "It's got to be something else. She's covering for someone."

"Perhaps. But I know one thing…" Harry turned, surprised and a little chilled to hear the cold, matter-of-fact voice of his ex-girlfriend. Ginny sidled up next to Ron and met Harry's eyes, but there was no hint of anything other than calculating determination in them. "I'm going to find out for sure, even if I have to dissolve every bone in her body."

Harry rounded the stone staircase, narrowly avoided walking into a useless nook, cursed and turned around, squinting at the dungeons. He knew the Slytherin common room was _somewhere_ down here…the search, which had already lasted almost twenty minutes-it had taken him just that long to find the stairs in the first place-had increased in him a sense of building ferocity. He _must_ find Draco and talk to him; Draco _had_ to have known something about this! Hadn't it been Draco who suggested the possibility of a rival in the first place? Harry had known Draco to be chums with Pansy, and more. Could he really pretend he'd not at least foreseen this development? And how could Harry have been so stupid?!

"You can take the man from the Death Eaters, but you can't take the Death Eater from the man," Harry muttered as he felt angrily along the opposite wall. He took a deep breath; impatience would get him nowhere when dealing with the creative, magical labyrinth that was Hogwarts. The candles on the wall flickered eerily, and he was struck by the silence of the dungeons. It seemed as if not a soul ever came down there.

"How can anyone _stand_ it down here?" He said more loudly this time, just to hear the sound of a human voice. A moment later, he thought he heard the sound of conversation as if coming through the wall under one of the torches.

"Hello!" he yelled in a commanding voice, which might have been comical if he'd thought about it. The sounds traveled down the dark hallway that opened ahead of him, which he had not noticed before, thinking there was nothing but a wall. Harry set off with the hint of a growl in his throat.

After a short walk, he saw a dark green curtain, pushed through, and found himself in the haughtily-decorated Slytherin common room. Several Slytherins, including Blaise and Millicent, stared silently at him. Glancing back over his shoulder, Harry saw a heavy, oak door where the curtain had been.

"I came for Draco," Harry said to his audience. A cough came from somewhere, but he looked past them rather than at them; he hoped he looked as no-nonsense as he'd been determined to be before he found himself surrounded by the most unpopular house in the school.

"Oh, that's all right then. I'll just serve him right up for you, shall I? Care for a glass of wine while you wait?"

Millicent laughed sharply amongst the titters as Blaise strode forward, and Harry was struck by the sinister (beauty?) grace of Blaise's composed sarcasm; it showed itself in his walk as much as his voice. Harry didn't move, allowing Blaise to get as close as he liked. Blaise's lithe body, however, and his hard, amused stare, was somewhat disarming…_god, I can see why Draco's so taken with him,_ Harry thought before he could shake the impression away. This wasn't turning out so well…

"Harry? What the hell are you _doing _here?"

Harry was relieved, when he turned, to see Draco looking quite irritated-and surprised-behind him.

"Draco, your new boyfriend was just looking for you. He wants to know if he can have a few minutes with you alone…" the Slytherins snickered, and Harry blushed.

"I need to talk to you."

"Yeah, so do we, Draco," Blaise said, turning his searing gaze mercifully away from Harry. "I'd love to know when you were going to tell us that Potter has special access to our dorms." He folded his arms.

"Yes," Millicent chimed in. "We're not sure how we feel about the fact that _anyone_ can just stroll in, anytime he wants…"

"I'm thinking perhaps we should change the password, and maybe this time you'd better earn our trust back, before we give it to you again," Blaise said teasingly, and Harry felt Draco's wrath before he saw him approach, standing between he and Blaise.

"I'm sorry, I could have _sworn_ I heard you say something about _giving_ ME the password?"

Blaise merely smiled; apparently he was used to Draco's quiet anger.

"You may want to rethink that, seeing as how _I'm_ the only one who has the power to determine the location of said quarters-"

"Yes, yes, we _know_. All about how your father paid off Snape. Nobody cares anymore. I bet that magic doesn't even _work_," Millicent put in obstinately, and Harry thought for a second he was going to have to drag Draco bodily from the room before he cast something horrible on everyone. Draco's wand hand twitched, and Harry felt surreptiously for his own as he saw Blaise reach for his. Blaise's eyes narrowed.

"Nobody was talking to you, you half-blooded _whore_," Draco hissed with a dismissive toss of his head. He surprised Harry, however, by turning to him as if nothing had ever happened. Harry realized that the hostile banter must be commonplace in this house; they'd learned not to take any of it seriously for more than a few seconds. "You were saying, Harry? How _did_ you get in here, by the way?" Draco still looked annoyed.

"How should I know? Found my way, I guess."

"You mean you didn't let him in?!" Millicent and Blaise now looked truly shocked; the other Slytherins had grown quiet and returned to their activities, but Harry knew they were all listening intently.

"Can't we talk somewhere else?" He was growing impatient and uncomfortable; he was not in the mood to solve two mysteries and did not want to lose focus on the more important one.

"What do you need to say to Draco that you can't say in front of us? We don't keep secrets from each other," Blaise put in, his voice suggestive. Harry glared. "We're quite _intimate_ here, Potter. Es_pec_ially where Draco is concerned."

"Shut up, Blaise. Potter, I don't have time for this-"

"_Potter?_" Harry couldn't help protesting, even while he heard the hint of a whine in his own voice. _You're acting like a wounded lover!_

Draco merely raised an eyebrow before he continued.

"What _is_ it? I'm extremely busy, if you must know."

"Oh yeah? Doing what? Fucking Cormac McLaggen? Or maybe fooling around with Zabini here before your next class?" Harry felt heat rising to his cheeks, almost oblivious to the surprised laughter he heard from Blaise. "I came down here to find out what you knew about Parkinson; preferably, where she is, so I can drag her by the hair and leave her at the mercy of Hermione. She doesn't know who she's toying with, Draco. You must know that."

"What the _hell_ are you on about?!" Now Draco _really_ looked angry. If Harry hadn't been so upset on behalf of Hermione, he might actually have regretted upsetting him; not just a few hours before he had missed Draco so terribly he'd been able to do nothing but mope around in his own room. "Nevermind;" Draco was saying, "I don't have to listen to this. I'd advise you to get out right now and go back up to the perch where you belong. Or you can stay down here, for all I care. I have things to do. I'll see you."

"Draco! PANSY POISONED HERMIONE!" Harry shouted, his fists balled up as he chased Draco's retreating back. Draco turned, and looked truly confused. "You heard me! You liar! You fucking liar! You told me you knew nothing about it. And I pro_tect_ed you!" Harry's cheeks burned as he heard hearty laughter all around him now. There was more behind his rage, though, and try as he might deny it, he knew it was going to come to the surface-_Shut up and leave,_ his inner voice advised calmly. _Get out, calm down, talk to him about it later. _But Harry couldn't stand it; all his pent up frustration and the hurt of Draco's hot and cold behavior was stirring up the agony that had accumulated since he first returned to Hogwarts.

"I don't know anything about it, Harry. I have no idea what you're talking about. I seriously doubt…"

"She _did_, Draco. She was jealous of Hermione, because of Ron-"

"_Now_ who's telling lies? Pansy, pining after a blood traitor?"

Harry whirled on Millicent, and his wand shook in his hand as he cast some automatic, unintelligible spell at her terrified face. Blaise dove and shoved her out of the way. Draco was suddenly blocking Harry's view, and all he could here was angry shouting from all sides. He had the vague impression that the number of spectators had increased, as he felt stares and whispers behind him.

"LET ME HANDLE THIS!" Draco was screaming hoarsely, as if enraged that anyone would take action without his explicit permission.

"Harry! WE'RE BEHIND YOU!" Ron yelled from behind Harry.

"Stay back!" Harry shouted, turning, and ignored Ron's shocked expression. "This is between me and Draco." He turned back before he could listen to Ron's protests, but not before he'd gotten a glimpse; it seemed suddenly that the entire school was pouring into the hallway behind Slytherin dungeon, and there was no longer any sign of either the door or the green curtain that had magically separated it away from the rest of the floor.

"That's right, Harry!" Draco screamed, his face now patched with red. "You want to have it out with me?! Let's have it out! I want to hear it!" Draco was in his face now, and Harry would later remember feeling nothing but the old feelings of revulsion and hatred as he felt his fury matched by his oldest enemy's. "What's this really about? You're so fucking honest; how about a moment of honesty? Did you make up this stupid story just so you'd have an excuse to come barging in here, demanding answers from me…"

"Harry's not making anything up, Malfoy. You'd better answer for what's happened to Hermione before-" Harry pushed Ron back. A part of him half expected Ron to trample him and make straight for Draco…but Ron stayed just behind him, and Harry could feel him seething.

"Pansy's been sent to the HeadMistress's," a small, female voice that Harry did not recognize said from somewhere behind him. But he didn't care. The Slytherins had gathered behind Blaise, who stood, all with wands pulled, glaring behind Draco. If Harry had been in his right mind, he would have understood the soberness of the situation. _It's all out war all over again_…

Suddenly, it _did_ hit him; now that Draco was the one demanding answers, Harry found he had no idea what he wanted to say. The situation around Hermione seemingly dissolved, it suddenly felt absurd that he had come here, intruded, brought the entire school to see the spectacle…and how was he going to explain his behavior to McGonagall, who was bound to find out?

Turning on his heel-with great effort of will-Harry walked out of the room. The crowd of students parted slightly to let him through.

"DON'T YOU TURN YOUR BACK ON ME!" Draco roared. Harry kept walking, but he felt Draco pursuing him, shouting threats and sounding as if he were losing his composure. He made it up to the top step before he felt a hand clench painfully at his shoulder, and he spun around, wand pointed at Draco's chin. Draco's was already pointing directly into his left eye. His chest heaved and his breath came out in pants.

"That's right, Harry Potter! Let's have it out! You can't walk away from this. What? You think you have a right to whatever the fuck you want? You think you have a right to _me_?!"

"Back off, Draco. I'm finished with you." Harry tried to sound calm, but blood pounded in his head. This was really bad…

"YOU'RE?! FINISHED WITH _ME?!?! _YOU THINK YOU CAN BREAK UP WITH _ME?!_ I'VE _BEEN_ THROUGH WITH YOU!" Whispers, gasps and some obnoxious chuckles filled Harry's ears like a tornado. "YOU NEVER _HAD_ ME, HARRY! Admit it! That's what pisses you off, isn't it?! Do you know how many times I've _FUCKED_ CORMAC SINCE THE LAST TIME I SAW YOU?!?"

"_FUCK YOU, DRACO!!!" _Harry screamed, out of control, and was humiliated by tears rushing to the corners of his eyes. He was going to kill someone in another second. His hand shook, but his wand drooped the slightest bit. Draco stepped closer, spitting into Harry's face with the force of his words.

"That's right, Harry!!! Can you imagine that? Want to know how many times I've been in Blaise's bed since just this afternoon? But you don't want to hear this, do you? You don't want to believe that anyone could ever turn down the Boy Who Lived-"

"Fuck you, Draco Malfoy," Harry said in a lower tone this time, truly hurt. He dropped his wand with a clatter on the stone hallway and turned blindly, walking briskly in the direction of Gryffindor Tower. This time, he knew, Draco would not follow him.

"Go on, Harry! That's right, walk away with your tail between your legs. Now everybody knows about your little crush. Hope you're happy!!!" Harry couldn't be certain, but he thought he heard a break in Draco's voice. He was too humiliated, too crushed and defeated by the power of his own emotion, however, to believe it. He no longer understood what Draco was shouting, although he was painfully aware that other voices had now entered the fray, and some of them directed derisively at his back. But whatever was happening in the hallway, it wasn't his problem anymore.


	5. Together Part 2

Author's note: Oops! I noticed some spelling errors, so I reposted the previous chapter. I also edited the last paragraph or so to the scene…and now the story's finished! Enjoy, and thanks for the reviews!

**Together (Part 2)**

"What happened back there, mate?!"

Harry listlessly tossed a pillow up in the air and caught it, over and over again. He did not bother to answer Ron, and merely hoped he would go away. When he didn't, however, he snuck a glance. Ron's face was red, and he looked both terribly confused and ready to knock someone's face in. He briefly wondered what form Ron's reaction to Draco's outburst had taken.

"_Mate_. What the hell _was_ that back there?"

"I want to be alone, Ron."

"Yeah, all right. All right." Ron promptly disappeared, and Harry was quite grateful. He knew, however, he would not be able to avoid his questions forever. But for the moment, he hoped never to have to show his face anywhere outside of his dorm room again. Maybe, he could just stay there on his bed, until school ended in a couple of months. He could make it. He rolled over on his side, feeling too dull to sort out his thoughts. It wasn't long before he drifted off.

When he awoke, Seanus, Dean and Ron were getting dressed for dinner. Neville poked his head in, leaned into the doorway, and peered in Harry's general direction.

"All right, Harry?"

"I'm fine, Neville."

"If you need anything, I mean, if you want to know-"

"Thanks."

"I mean, I'm sure Ron will fill you in, but you know, if you need somebody to back you up about Hermione, my wand is ready-"

"Ohhhh…" Harry groaned in exasperation. He sat up and began to change his clothes. If no one was going to leave him alone, he might as well head downstairs with everyone else. Who cared what anyone said about him? Honestly, who cared? Hadn't the world already ended? From inside the shirt he was about to slide over his head, he thought he heard Seamus and Dean

exchange a flurry of whispers.

Harry managed to survive the showdown much more easily than he expected. Part of this was due to Hermione, who was very satisfied to know that her enemy had been nothing more formidable than a jealous rival. Now and then, she dropped loaded hints about how she might undertake the "reeducation" of Pansy, as she called it, but Harry and Ron both suspected that this was an indication of her good mood. Ron and Ginny both liked to egg her on when she was on one of her stints, and Harry knew that while they might not admit it, they would have been delighted to engage in a feud with the Slytherins simply for the sake of having something worthwhile to do.

Harry, however, thought it was a stupid idea. Pansy hadn't shown her face since her name had been discovered-which, he thought, was nothing but wisdom on her part-and it was rumored that she had left for the rest of the school year anyway. If this was the case, the Slytherins were being rather tight-lipped about it, though, and Harry said nothing of his opinion to Hermione and Ron. All three of them avoided the topic of the argument with Draco, but this could only last so long.

One day a few weeks later-the gossip had never died down, but most people seemed to know better than to say anything directly to Harry about it-he found himself confronted by an irate-looking Ron. _Here we go,_ he thought with a sigh.

The Gryffindors had gone to the lockers to put away their Quidditch equipment. "I'll be right along," Ron had said to Ginny, who nodded with a stern glance in Harry's direction. Harry rolled his eyes. _Great. They're both in on it._

"I want to have a word with you."

Harry merely raised his eyes, then shielded them to gaze into the deep, blue sky, where some geese soared overhead in a v-shape. It was a beautiful day, and perhaps it only added to his general feeling of carelessness.

"Harry…would you just, look at me for a second? So I know you're not tuning me out?"

Harry turned to face his best friend. Ron's eyes, deep with serious concern, startled him.

"What is it, Ron? You want me to talk about something you know quite well I'd rather not? Why's it so important to you?"

"How can you say that?" Ron's voice was low, and Harry could see he was genuinely offended. "How can you ask me that, Harry? Look…it's more than just pure curiousity, you must know that. I…have to admit, the things he said-" it wasn't necessary for him to say Draco's name, "-came as a real shock. And I won't say I feel…well…" he shuffled uncomfortably, and Harry waited, his heart beating. He felt torn between regret and annoyance. "…look, the fact is, what he said makes me really uncomfortable. About you. But…that's not really my business, is it."

"No, it's not," he agreed flatly.

"I mean…what I mean to say is, Harry, as outrageous as those claims might be, if…_if_ they were even the slightest bit true, I mean…I'm trying to say…"

"_WHAT_, Ron? What are you trying to say? Just say it already."

Ron's shoulders slumped, and he let out a sigh that seemed to release some kind of tension in him.

"I'm trying to say that however _insane_ your choices might be, I'd still be your friend. Even if you _are_-" he made a very ugly expression of distaste- "even if you _are_ carrying on with a bloke. And even if, for some _god-unknown_ reason, that bloke is Malfoy."

Harry looked at him, really looked at Ron for the first time that day, and was filled with an emotional surprise. This was the last thing he'd expected…

"Seriously, Harry, you need to wake up. Now understand, all that said, I think you're absolutely off your head if you really have a thing for Malfoy, if you've done _half_ of the things he's suggested, if you've even _thought _about-"  
"Yeah, I get the idea!" Harry's face was warm again. But Ron had caught his interest.

"Yeah, well, like I said, even though I question your judgment, let alone your sanity, my point is, we're still all right. I mean, what's a friend for but to let his mate know when he's confused an orangutan with an ice cream Sunday?"

Harry could not help but chuckle at this. But inside him, a dam was beginning to break.

"Now, here's the thing, Harry, and I want to know the truth; not for my own curiousity, you understand, but so I can tell you-the thing I've got to tell you." Ron had turned crimson, which made Harry uneasy again.

"Oh? All right then, what do you want to know? If I'm shagging Malfoy?"

"Well, not _quite_ in that detail. No, I really don't."

"Well what then?"

"I just want to know, if…if the reason you've been so out of sorts the past few weeks, is because of him. I mean, not because of what happened, but because of _him…_you get me?"

Harry shook his head innocently, not wanting to answer the question. It was too strange, and too painful; the whole school year and the evolution of his attraction to Draco was still too confusing, and he would do anything, _anything_ rather than talk about it right now, as if it had actually been _real_…

"Harry, are you in love with him?" And when Ron looked him in the eye in that moment, Harry knew he would not be able to keep up the lie any longer.

"Yeah, Ron, I am. All right?" He softly answered. "Is that what you want to hear?"

"If you don't mind, I'll just ignore that last part," Ron said, a smile twisted with a grimace on his mouth. Harry nodded, miserable with shame. He could hardly believe it had come to this. "So," Ron continued, his tone a little brighter, "I thought so. Good." Harry's head snapped up.

"_Good_?"

"Yeah. Glad we got that sorted out. Now, there's something I need to get off my chest."

"I can hardly wait."

"Harry, how long have you known that me and Hermione were…were in love with each other?" Ron blushed furiously now, and Harry felt similarly awkward. He himself had never approached this topic with anyone, and had expected they would all progress leisurely into late adulthood long before Ron or Hermione would ever admit their feelings in the open.

"I dunno…ever since second year, I expect…"

"Exactly. And how many times have you seen us had a row-"

"More times than I've cared to."

"-I'm not finished! How many times have you seen us have a row, and be all broken up about it, and, you know, known that it was something more, that even though we acted like we were angry…"

"Ron, I think I know where you're going with this," Harry said, a warning in his voice. But Ron did not seem to care.

"Really, Harry? Are you sure? Because I'll tell you, the way you're acting right now about this Draco thing, it's just plain pathetic, you know."

"Pa_the_tic?!"

"Yeah. That's right." Ron's face was set with conviction. "That's what I said. Listen, Harry, you have a lot to learn about breaking up and making up. That's all I'm trying to tell you."

And Harry, who was so taken aback by Ron's stern determination, spent the rest of the afternoon in disbelief at being lectured by Ron on the rules of being in love…

"Now go over there," Ron was saying with the same I-won't-listen-to-any-excuses tone of voice that he had used the day before. He and Harry had just joined the girls at the Gryffindor table for breakfast. Harry found himself a little less than enthusiastic about what seemed to be Ron's new project; getting Harry to make up to Draco.

"Ron, seriously, you've got to lay off," Harry said, trying to sound just as determined. But he found no real strength behind his words. "Why do you care so much, anyway?"

"That's a good question," Ginny put in, not looking at either of them but at her spoon instead, which was sopping with marmalade. "Why indeed. If anyone should have felt betrayed, it should be Ron." Something about her voice irritated Harry, but he bit his tongue.

"I _do_ feel a little betrayed. But I also know Harry wouldn't take up with someone who he considered an enemy, even to any of his closest friends. Besides, Malfoy's done enough penance," he answered heroically, and Neville, Hermione, Ginny and Harry all stared at him, along with several other Gryffindors closest to their section of the table. The Gryffindor table suddenly seemed a bit quieter to Harry in general, but perhaps it was just his imagination; his heart pounding again, he caught a glimpse of Draco, who was laughing with Blaise as if he hadn't a care in the world.

"-not really worried about him," Ron was finishing.

"Why _can't_ you just let it go, Ron?" Harry turned to him, almost pleading.

"Because. I'm tired of missing my best friend. I'm tired of seeing the bravest underage wizard in the world, sulking about and looking like a kicked dog," he answered bluntly, and Seamus and Dean snickered.

"Ron's right, Harry," Hermione said, and Harry gave her a wounded look.

"You too? You can't be serious. You've more reason to hate him than anyone."

Hermione sniffed and lifted her chin.

"Malfoy's not worth my hate. He's nothing but a coward. Anyway, Ron and I have talked-" Harry noticed that she looked a little guilty-"and we're in agreement where _you_ are concerned."

"It's for your own good," Ginny said to him, and Harry had nothing to say back. Ginny was utterly contradictory; he'd much rather be dealing with Ron. _No wonder we didn't belong together_, he thought with some amusement.

"Bottom line, Harry. If you don't go over there and say something to Draco, and put an end to all this…"

"_Juvenile_…"

"Thanks, Hermione," Harry shot wryly.

"_Juvenile_ behavior," Ron continued, "I'm going to go get him myself, and tell him you asked him to come over here."

"_ALL RIGHT_!"

Slamming his palms on the table so hard that they stung-and drew a few stares-Harry pushed himself up and stalked across the room. The sound of faint, polite applause accompanied him from various students at every table but Slytherin, which seemed poorly attended today and wrapped up in its own conversations. Draco glanced up as Harry approached, sending a shock of utter terror through him when their eyes met, before looking away and talking to Blaise as before.

Blaise, as if sensing Harry behind him, made some explanation to the table and politely excused himself, and Draco looked concentratedly down at his food as Harry stood uncertainly to his left. Harry took one last desperate glance over to the Gryffindor table, and saw a hundred pair of eyes looking right back at him. Not one, he realized, held any expression other than support, and there was something about that that warmed him inside. Then he saw Cormac staring at him, and something in his mind set with a click. He sat down, straddling the bench so that he faced Draco, scooted in to a very friendly distance, and gave Draco's profile the most handsome smile he could muster.

"Good morning," he said to the invisible wall of coldness that met him. Draco continued eating. "I've missed you," he tried again, and felt shock and amusement travel around the table. _This is the hardest thing I have _ever_ done in my life_, he realized, and just to be sure, he rapidly replayed a few dark memories from last year. _Yup, the hardest!_ There was nothing to do but plunge forward.

Inching closer-Draco's slight figure was hunched delicately over the table, a relaxed posture that Harry had begun to find quite endearing-he rested his finger against Draco's robed elbow and stroked lightly. _Want do you want here?_ Draco's rearrangement of himself seemed to demand, but he did pull away.

"You're still sore at me, then?" Harry sighed. "Look, Draco…" he gulped; for a second he thought he'd lost his mind after all. "You were right, about the way I acted…I shouldn't have assumed anything. I just…I want to know if I can have a second chance." Draco huffed and looked at him for a moment, and Harry felt his heart sink to his knees. _I'm going to be humiliated again._ "Not, you understand, to be anything more than friends, if that's all you should want from me. But I would like at least to be that, very much…"

Blaise had returned to sit a little away from the two of them, and seemed to pretend not to hear anything. Draco finally looked up and gave Harry the most exasperated expression.

"What makes you so sure I want _anything_ from you?"

"I know you can have better, Draco…I'm-well aware you don't need me for anything. But I'd like to be friends. Truth be told, of course, I'd like more…I was angry because I was jealous, yes, but not the way you think. Not like someone who only wants to use you, only someone who…who wants…"

Draco waited, his grey eyes inscrutable.

"…who wants to be closer than anything to you, Draco." There. He'd said it. And now he thought there had never been a moment where he looked more ridiculous. _At least I spoke the truth_, he told himself, trying very hard to ignore the positively elated expressions around the table. No doubt the Slytherins had never had more fun than they would with this scene.

"You want to be with me exclusively, is that it?" Draco was very matter of fact, but Harry could not tell what he truly thought of his confession.

"Yeah…yes, I want to be-"

"Boyfriends," Draco finished.

"Yes…" And Harry could say nothing more. So he wrapped his arm around Draco's waist, sure this time he would not pull away, though still doubtful if he would win. "But, I understand if it's not what you want. I just want you to know it's what I want. I screwed it up; I should have asked you outright from the beginning."

"Yeah, that would have helped," Draco shot, but he looked slightly mollified as he began eating again.

"I honestly thought you knew!"

"No, I didn't know. I knew you were infatuated with the idea of snogging a man. But I'd never heard of you doing it before. How should I know if you were serious? I still don't know. And I doubt very much that you do. You have a lot to learn, Potter."

"Yeah, I'm hearing that a lot these days," Harry murmured, his heart light as he glanced at Ron and Hermione. Cormac was staring steadily down at his own food; his ears were burning red. Harry guessed it was with shame, and not anger. He certainly hoped so. "But I don't think I'm wrong about this." He turned back to Draco, and leaned-ever so slightly-into his neck so that his words would brush against him. "I know that I want you, Draco. And-only on your terms. I'd like to get to know you in any way that you'll let me. So what do you say?"

"I'll have to think about it," Draco muttered, glancing at Blaise. Harry swallowed hard. He would try not to be jealous…Blaise looked back and shrugged. _Why not_? His gesture implied, and in that moment, Harry was struck with the epiphany that Draco and Blaise were actually quite good _friends_.

"That's more than I deserve, and all I could ever ask." He smiled; his fingers had found their way into the blond strands of hair that touched Draco's collar, and he felt Draco shiver. "I hope you won't mind if I try to make a strong case for myself, though." He thought he saw a smile tugging at Draco's lips.

"You can try."

"I'm very good at that."

"Yes. The persistence of you Gryffindors is _legendary_," he answered with dripping sarcasm.

"Don't be so cold, Draco. Give Harry a little kiss, why don't you. Can't you see he's trying so very _hard_?"

"Shut up, Blaise." Draco turned to Harry, his eyelids lowered. Seconds before Draco's lips touched his, Harry thought the way his lashes looked as they caught the sunlight from the enormous bay windows was utterly astounding.

"Oh, this is going to be a _very_ interesting year," someone said. He thought perhaps it was Millicent.

"Yes. One no one at Hogwarts will ever, ever, ever…_ever_ forget." Harry didn't mind as he clasped Draco tightly; he quite agreed-and they were right. What remained of their last year was _very_ interesting…and that's how Harry Potter finally came out of the wardrobe.


End file.
